


let the flames begin

by thetormentita



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: AU, Elia Martell Lives, Lyanna you wild beastie, No baby Aegon, Rhaegar is still a moron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:09:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetormentita/pseuds/thetormentita
Summary: year 283 aC. the offspring of the king and queen of westeros are sick of the bad government of aerys II and want it to end. with the eldest children at the front, will the seven kingdoms dare to face the mad king?---------------------------------------rewritten version of smoke & fire.
Kudos: 7





	1. harrenhal, 281aC

It is the first tourney which she can truly enjoy, and she makes sure she misses anything. Far enough from the king to have freedom but not too far from him to make him or anybody of his Small Council suspicious of anything, she laughs at a joke from the young lord of Storm's End, not too bawdy to make her sister-in-law, sat at the other side of her, laugh as well.

"Don't say that, cousin! There are ladies around!" 

Even ser Gerold Hightower, sat behind her, chuckles. That sound cheers her up, coming from a figure that has been more father than her biological one.

As the lane is being cleaned for the next couple to joust, a young man with his curls wood-coloured turns to face her, with a smirk on his lips. Elbert Arryn is sat next to the Stark siblings, only a row closer than her. His look, warm enough to melt almost any maiden's heart in Westeros, is placed on her, and a pair of golden dragons shine on his hand, resting on Robert Baratheon's knee.

"I heard my lady enjoys some emotion. What about a little gamble?" he smiles when she looks back at him "Can I be a bit mischievous and bet with you about our prince's victory?"

As she leans to see the next knight to challenge the heir to the throne, a cackle enlightens her face and she messes up the heir to the Eyrie’s hair, maybe too friendly.

“Make it twenty, lord Elbert, because here comes my champion.”

Two dragons jousting. That is a sight that Westeros hasn’t been able to witness for a generation, and nobody there wants to lose any single detail of it. Rhaegar and Duncan Targaryen are the eldest children of king Aerys, but nothing despite the eldest’s hair and jawline would say it. Loved by noblemen and smallfolk, the crowd cheers as they both get ready on the corners of the lane, one opposite the other.

“Another twenty on prince Duncan, lord Arryn” Maegelle looks at the woman next to her with a risen eyebrow and a sort of smirk upon her lips, somewhat surprised of that move, and the Dornishwoman looks back at her, with a spark of pride on her dark eyes.

“Are we cleaning Elbert out? Make it thirty for Duncan, Arryn!”

It is a shame to not have him by her side, because he would enjoy it as much as her, but she knows well that his place is there, trying to avoid chaos and havoc. With her eyes on the slender man with the black armour, she bites her lower lip trying to keep herself quiet and not show her cards yet.

Both knights break their first spears in complete silence. Nobody dares to disturb the tense silence only broken by the sound of wood crashing and horses running down the lane. Another spear broken, and she is the only one of the public that knows what could mean the victory of Rhaegar over Duncan.

‘I want to be with you far from the court, Aerys and Rhaegar’ had said her brother before the tourney ‘We’ll go south, to Summerhall, and there we’ll do as we please. It’ll be our home.’ had said him before going to Harrenhal, and to hear the night before how Rhaegar was asking her about Lyanna Stark made her tremble. Rhaegar has an obsession, and it is the well known three-headed dragon. With Elia of Dorne and her fragile health, his desire of having those three children and maybe pushing them to a limit Maegelle did not dared to think about what could happen if her eldest brother tries to fulfill that sort of profecy using the child's matrix.

Another creak of the spears. And it is the third one. In that moment she starts cheering the thinnest of both dragons, the one with the most restrained armour, who seemed to be fresher and cockier.

"Rhaegar is a really strong man" this time it is Oberyn Martell, Elia's brother, to talk, looking at the jousters without blinking, leaning slightly forward in interest.

"Dunk will beat him" she hears those words and for a moment doesn't realize they are her own "He is quicker, and nimbler. Everybody says so, even ser Willem Darry."

She doesn't look at him but knows that Oberyn smirks. The Red Viper only does it that way when something crosses his sharp mind, Elia once said.

The fifth spear is broken and in that sunny morning noblemen and smallfolk are witnessing the clash of the fairest princes of their generation. Almost everybody stands up eagerly, some of them driven by the thrill of the moment and others by the money gambled. 

With the sixth spear Maegelle takes Elia's hand.

The seventh makes Rhaegar fall from his horse, and both princesses jump, cheering loudly and clearly. Elia is more comfortable with them than with her own husband, but shouldn’t be showing herself that much, and something quite similar happens to her, because they have tried to be discrete outside their chambers to try to avoid any kind of disturbance from anybody. As Duncan climbs down his black horse, he takes off his helmet and the face he shows to the world couldn’t be happier.

As he approaches his brother and helps him stand up she can’t be prouder, and voices she doesn’t bother to identify who talks. All eyes are on the brothers, but hers are on Duncan ‘Hotspur’ Targaryen, the man that has avoided chaos in Westeros at least for some time.

Lord Whent declares the winner as a squire comes with a crown of flowers, yellow and black as the colours of the house of the owners of Harrenhal and Duncan quickly climbs up his black stallion again to approach the man sat next to Aerys Targaryen. As soon as he takes the crown with a naked hand, he leads his horse around the lane, proud and cocky, only to stop right were she is, next to Elia of Dorne, and close to Lyanna Stark and other northern ladies.

“This goes to the fairest lady on the Seven Kingdoms, the owner of my passions” his eyes on her make her tremble with thrill. She approaches the first row smiling, biting her lower lip, and when their gazes meet she knows Summerhall is a little bit closer. “My queen of love and beauty”.


	2. harrenhal, 281aC

He makes sure she is well guarded before leaving her alone, sleeping peacefully. He knows he's been risky just thinking about defeating the golden heir of Aerys II Targaryen, but he couldn't let all Westeros bleed for a simple whim, and now something deep inside him doesn't like to leave his Queen of Love and Beauty alone there, far from the Red Keep and the rest of the guards and their own mother.

"Smooth move, your Highness" 

Tywin Lannister's greenish eyes examinate him while a young girl pours wine into their golden goblets, carefully. Dunk thinks she is somewhat scared of them, like not wanting to fail to them in any way. She is younger than Shaena, that's for sure, but he insists on trying to picture her as a lady in waiting or something to his other sister, the porcelain maiden of her.

Duncan Targaryen licks his lips and takes the goblet to his mouth, letting the Lord of Casterly Rock flatter him for a moment, making sure he treasures that moment well. Nobody would believe him.

"If you call pride a smart move, then thank you" he raises both eyebrows and takes a sip. Good Arbor wine, and possibly more expensive than the desserts served by the Whents during the last meal.

"You may not have been aware of it, but you have more supporters than Rhaegar"

Dunk chokes on the wine, surprised by those words.

A smirk appears on Tywin's face, and it makes him look like the hunter he is. The Lion of Lannister. The richest man in all Westeros. More than the king and the Hightowers together. Duncan knows well that if he wanted to talk with him it wouldn't be for a stupid reason.

"It is well known that while all eyes were on my elder brother, I had the chance to choose my own path and so I did" a mere glance to the girl is enough for her to leave them alone, amidst the whispers of the night in a place as doomed as Harrenhal "I'm sure you are well aware that the way this conversation seems to go can be considered treason..."

"Are you going to blame me, my prince?"

This time is Dunk who smirks, just a bit. He knows well that despite having two boys and a girl, lord Tywin despises the idea of leaving the Westerlands and Casterly Rock, the ancient seat of a family as proud as the Lannisters to the youngest of his heirs, the one known down the neck as the dwarf.

"You know that I consider you and Gerold Hightower my father figures. Wouldn't it be a shame?" an eyebrow archs on the prince's face, salty.

What Tywin Lannister doesn't know is the sort of hatred for the current monarch growing at the north of the Vale of Arryn and at the Reach, with skilled warriors ready to fight for the younger dragons in case it is needed, and Dunk adores the feeling of going just a bit further than a man like the one sat in front of him.

"If you were my son, your Highness, this conversation wouldn't have existed at all" 

Dunk's tongue draws his teeth slowly with its tip while he tries to hide a grin of superiority, finally having made him show his cards. Despite his sort of triumph, something very deep inside him knows that the main reason of Tywin Lannister talking that openly to him is because he is the only one to try to destroy the madness of Aerys and the illusion of Rhaegar bringing a new era to Westeros.

"I bet my boots that there has to be something in the books about a Kingsguard returning home" unconsciusly he bites his lower lip, getting more comfortable in his seat, with those greenish eyes on him "Let's imagine, for a moment, that the two big fishies messing around go missing— Maybe the cats have eaten them, who knows" shrugs his shoulders slightly, almost unnoticeably, and sips some wine, leaving the golden goblet on the solid wooden table "What do we get in compensation for the terrible loss?” he frowns for a moment and bites his cheek “Are you aware that if Rhaegar dies I will be the first to support my niece’s claim to the throne?” 

“Nobody but the Martells would think the same.”

“Couldn’t care less. Rhaenys is my niece, blood of my blood.”

“If the heir drops dead, my prince, the great lords of Westeros would do two things: feast over your niece’s maidenhood or support the next male in the succession line. You.”

“Don’t count on trying to make me marry your daughter. If things go as they should, my desire is to make house Lannister shine in King’s Landing, but not because of Cersei Lannister’s maidenhood.” Tywin nods, and nothing can be heard on that part of the castle “Once things are settled down, if they have gone the way they are supposed to, we can talk about that again if you consider it necessary, with Maegelle as well because I think there has to be a femenine vision on this issues.”

Their gazes meet, silently, and Dunk knows that the lack of any complaints on the Lion’s side leads them to a sort of agreement strange to him, because no great lord like Tywin has taken the time before to do anything like that with him.

His paces guide him to his lair, his favorite place in the whole castle during the tournament, and he tries to be as silent as he can. Despite his efforts, he ends up hitting the door and cursing between teeth for it. Carefully, just because he assumes his sister would be asleep being that late in the night, he comes into the room and closes the door slowly, even putting a chair against it, like wanting absurdly to lock it even more.

Once he is in it, he allows himself to look at the bed waiting for him, with a body under the sheets, resting peacefully. He blinks twice, starting to think that maybe he has drank a bit too much and the following morning he will somewhat regret it, and his suspicions are confirmed when, while trying to take off his pants, he trips and almost falls to the floor. Unconsciously he puts a finger on his lips and shushes himself before moving again and starting to get rid of the shirt.

The body on the bed moves and faces him. Curled up like a baby, moonlight draws her silhouette and sculpts her factions, framed by a messed up hair, darker than the average Targaryens, like him. Both, the only ones out of all the youngest generations of the Valyrian monarchs, to have the darker hair, far from those golden locks, closer to the dark manes of hair of the Blackwoods and their First Men’s blood. He bites his lower lip and smirks, approaching the bed slowly, observing his sister, trying to guess if she’s awake but silent or still asleep.

“Mae” he whispers before sitting down on the mattress, approaching her “Are you asleep?”

She hums and wrinkles her nose when he strokes her naked arm, not as softly as he would like to, but enough to make her answer him.

“It’s late, let me sleep” whines her in a mumble, with her face against the soft pillow.

“I know, but it’s important. I have something to tell you and I’m kind of horny.”

“Not my business”

With a lazy hand she tries to push him away, but he takes it and kisses it, to them turn it and leave a kiss on her palm before licking it with lust. That makes her turn to face him, with some annoying face.

“Good girl, that’s my sister” he grins and she looks at him with narrowed eyes “I’ve had this nice little talk that has given me some answers— It seems that Whent is mad indeed with the Throne because the king wanted to see the nice and pious birthday girl dishonored on the joust, pushing Rhaegar to crown a rival house lady, but here I went and crowned you, so Whent told sir Oswell that he likes me. That’s why he was so effusive with us during the dance!”

His mumbling is quick but low enough to only be heard by the naked lady that is sat as well, yawning as he speaks.

“So what? Everybody knows lord Whent is a proud and cocky prick” she shrugs her shoulders, careless, and he finds himself craving her warmth.

“But what not everybody knows is that Donella Manderly and Leona Woolfield have been manipulating half of the guests, and Tytos and Mara Blackwood the other half with the help of the Lannisters.” 

He cackles as silent as he can, and Maegelle frowns and sniffs the air.

“Since when you have been drinking that much in the middle of the night?”

“Since Tywin Lannister himself has summoned me to pledge allegiance to me because he says that I’m the logical heir of Rhaegar and not Rhaenys.”

“Tywin Lannister is a fool for speaking like that, like you to believe Rhaenys will be accepted as future queen” she yawns and lays on the bed again, looking at him sideways “Weren’t you that horny? We can talk about this tomorrow, Dunk. I want to have some damned sleep with you next to me.”

He smirks and lays as well, stroking her hair as she talks, admiring the silkness of it. Maybe it is a bit late to talk about things like that.

“You should have seen me, my love, I managed to make him shut up some times, and, seven hells, that’s quite erotic—”

She laughs softly.


	3. a raven to the golden heir

> _Dear brother, do ourselves all a favour and in case there’s still pyromancers around home send mum and our siblings away, including Elia and your kid. We stop at Highgarden, Luthor Tyrell has died and Janna doesn’t stop crying._
> 
> _Take care._
> 
> _M_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add a bit of more "action" with ravens, used a lot in the books and tv show, and here comes the first one, Maegelle is not specially pleased e.e


	4. on the way to highgarden, 281 aC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of Rhaella’s ladies-in-waiting comes from this post of @sansalayned on tumblr, so all credits for it go to her :D
> 
> https://sansalayned.tumblr.com/post/105539766145/princess-rhaellas-ladies-in-waiting-in-259-a-c

Sun shines and birds seem to have woken up from a cold winter, making their trip harder than it already seems. 

The news of the death of Luthor Tyrell hit them before arriving to Bitterbridge, and they are taking turns to be with the disconsolate Janna, who seems to think that a non-stop half silent crying is a proper way to ease her distress. This time the distant cousins Dunk and Lucerys Velaryon’s sweet daughter and the sweet Leona Woolfield are the ones to be next to the sad rose, and, somewhat selfishly, Mae feels relieved.

“Cousin, can I ask you something private?”

There are only two people in the group that call her that, and one of them is trying to comfort the mournful Tyrell lady. Before she even notices, Tytos Blackwood is by her side, both riding black horses —she on her brother’s stallion, Balerion—. Tytos had come to the Red Keep when she was just a kid, and Great Maester Pycelle told her about Black Betha, the pride of an entire generation of young ladies, who kept dreaming about falling in love with a prince and living a romance as she did with Aegon V, making her realize the dragon siblings were not as isolated from the rest of Westeros as she thought.

“It depends” she sticks her tongue out, glad to have a different subject to talk about rather than the dead Tyrell “What is it?”

“Do you think I have any possibility with Aerena?”

Mae rises both eyebrows, silent. She wants to speak but just opens her mouth a couple of times before deciding what should she say.

“Well, as far as I know, you could try, cousin" she shrugs her shoulders slightly "She hasn't spoken about anybody, so maybe she hasn't found a suitor yet"

"For crying out loud, how much time will that woman be crying?" snorts Lyn Corbray, approaching them quickly, trying to be as far from the carriage as possible.

"Shut up, her father has died" despite trying to set a sort of example to another one of the friends of Dunk, she can't help but feeling the same.

"His father was a blockhead, Mae. It'll be better for Westeros to have him dead and we all now that, even Janna"

This time is Delonne Allyrion, the proud Dornish, to say out loud what they are thinking.

"Janna is our friend, and we must be kind with her. You know what I mean" she turns to face both Lyn and Delonne with a raised eyebrow "Specially you two— And, changing the subject, do you think Jon Fossoway is one of those Reachmen with more than a branch between their legs?"

Both women cackle. Corbray looks at them with a spark of sass on his face and Tytos almost wants to cover his face with a hand, somewhat embarrased of that comment.

"You are supposed to be a virtuous princess, cousin. At least try to not be heard by too many people, Seven Hells."

"And I am!" she mimicks, trying to seem dramatic and offended "I have only laid with the lunk in the charriot, and if it weren't by Lord Oaf's death we would have announced our betrothal— I guess we'll have to wait for Storm's End"she shrugs her shoulders and pouts, looking at Tytos Blackwood, who looks at her with narrowed eyes.

Despite Janna's wailing, she really enjoys that trip. She likes riding and to finally have the opportunity to enjoy a proper day of spring, far from any controlling eye to restrain her freedom.

Soon they approach Highgarden, but before they can have the chance to come into the castle Mae stops and makes her brother ride Balerion instead. With all eyes on them both, Dunk helps her climb down the horse, and she can't help but sigh at the mere touch of his hands.

"Why have we stopped?" mumbles Janna Tyrell once Maegelle has come into the carriage, drying her swollen eyes with a white handkerchief with roses on it before blowing her nose. 

"Because I want to comfort you, silly" says Mae, letting her friend rest her head on her lap and caressing her golden mane of hair as she speaks "Dunk is before me on the line to the throne, and it's supposed that virtuous ladies don't ride stallions like Balerion."

Maegelle Targaryen's light indigo eyes cross Leona Woolfield's brown ones, and both sigh silently.

The group of Queen Rhaella Targaryen's ladies in waiting had been the most influential in all Westeros for years, and the monarch seemed to want the same for her daughters, despite being only succesful with her eldest girl. Having created a strong bond with her companions, a next generation of girls took the place left by those who married, inherited lands or were too scared of what would Aerys do. Mae knows her mother is still friends with those still alive, despite everything: Cassana Estermont, married to her cousin Steffon Baratheon, had the brunette beauty Ravella Swann in Storm's End as a cupbearer ; Bethany Redwyne, cousin to Janna Tyrell's mother; Alys Arryn, distant aunt of Deana Hardyng; Loreza Martell, mother of Princess Elia and aunt as well to Delonne Allyrion; Minisa Whent, a distant relative of Mara Blackwood; Donella Manderly, cousin to Leona Woolfield's betrothed. The only failure in Rhaella's plan was to somehow connect her to the Westerlands, thanks to the acts of the king. The only exception was Aerena Velaryon, maybe, as Mae uses to think, to remind herself of her origins more than showing favors to a noble house.

When they reach Highgarden, Mae leans her head out of the window of the carriage, with Dunk riding next to her, more like a guard than a prince. Both observing the place, finally believing the tales of their friend about the splendor of a place like that, home to the most exquisite manners and gentleness. Brightness everywhere, both siblings were surprised by the big sept, that reminded them of that Baelor the Blessed ordered to built. The lessons of the maester come to her mind, and tales of Garth Greenhand's heirs seem to be told themselves inside her head as she can spot certain things, all related to the Reach and its great houses.

"It would not be okay to misbehave and go exploring the castle, right?” mumbles her brother, and she has to fight back a cackle “Other princes visited lots of places, and you and barely left home to go to uncle Steffon’s. It’s just not fair.”

He pouts for a moment, and then he seems to notice two tall men waiting for them. She and Leona look at them as well, and the northerner frowns for a second.

“What happens?”

“Blue and purple. Yellow and green. Aren’t Tyrells golden and green?”

“Those are Redwyne colours” as she speaks, the tales of the Tourney at Ashford Meadow told many times by her lady mother come to her mind “And the other one is from the newest branch of the Fossoway” she turns for a moment inside the carriage “Janna, my dear, Jon is from the old or the new Fossoways?”


End file.
